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A South-Sea Siren

Chapter XIV

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Chapter XIV

Raleigh passed a much troubled night. He was tormented both in his waking and sleeping dreams; and yet he dreamt of Love; but of Love in Protean shapes, seductive, imperious, plaintive, and avenging, all by turns.

At first it was an entrancing hallucination, he saw confiding beauty by his side, he listened with enraptured ear to the whispering of responsive passion, which fired his soul and sent the hot blood to his cheek; then a voluptuous numbness overpowered his struggling senses, and nursed them into a ravishing languor; he surrendered his whole being to the sweet abandonment of love, under the dark veil of night, and its thrilling stillness, resounding only with the throbbing of his heart.

Then a gloomy change came over the tenor of his dream. A feverish agitation seized him. The sweetly alluring voice suddenly altered its tone to a plaintive wail; the beloved object by his side shrunk from his embrace, and dissolved into tears; the darkness no longer shrouded him, and the silence of night was fraught with disquiet, and reverberated with dismal alarms.

What is that harrowing vision that rises before him? That trembling figure, with golden hair dishevelled, with countenance humbled in distress, and discomposed with fear, that with outstretched arms and imploring accents urges upon him to flee with her out into the darksome wilderness to save her from shame and reprobation?

Or that sad picture of a grief-stricken man, with head bowed down, and hands clasped tremulously before him, as if crushed by some fearful affliction, sitting alone and desolate in his cheerless home? Is it not the face of a friend that he sees—a friend who had trusted him only to be treacherously deceived.

Then the scene would change again; it would be little Maggie now, but Maggie no longer bright and rosy, pert and smiling, with dimpled cheek and merry glance; tears bedim her eyes, her face is pale, her lips trembling with anxious emotion; she is on her knees before him, looking up beseechingly for aid and protection, while outside Reproach and Calumny roam in the hideous darkness, and nothing is heard but cries of wailing and malediction.

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And then Conscience, a muffled figure standing by his side, would smite him.

The troubled dreamer awoke with a terrified start; with quaking hand he wiped away the cold sweat that had gathered on his brow; with distended eye-balls he glared around. Then he struck a light to dispel the harrowing illusion; he tried to restore his disturbed faculties, and to regain his equanimity by calm reflection. It was only a feverish nightmare. Yet a secret dread seemed to pursue him even when awake, and the tumults of repressed passion raged in his bosom.

The more he contemplated his position the more alarming it appeared, and the more anxious grew his misgivings.

He realised with dismay that he had become seriously entangled in several affaires de cœur; innocent so far, but threatening at any moment to plunge him into dangerous complications.

His heart sank within him at the prospect of forfeiting for ever the esteem and affection of his sweet Alice Seymour; he mentally winced under the scornful glance of the alluring Celia Wylde, while fascinated by her insidious smile; little Maggie's fond adoration troubled him sore, and her soft compliance was brimful of danger to virtue; while he clearly saw that a few more intimate and tender confidences with his charming Mistress Janet might lead—‘God knows where’.

‘What on earth is a poor fellow to do under such a cross-fire of amorous provocation?’ groaned the perturbed young man, as he tossed and tumbled on his creaking bed. ‘Sure, the devil's in it.’

‘Or rather,’ he exclaimed aloud to himself, ‘the devil is lurking outside, watching his opportunity to—Oh, Lord! What is that? Here he is !!!’

For just at that moment the front door of the cottage swung noiselessly on its hinges, the candle went suddenly out, and a flood of lurid light burst into the room.

Then he heard approaching footsteps, and a dark mysterious figure rose up before him.

Raleigh's first impulse was to hide his head under the bedclothes, but he soon recovered his presence of mind, and mustered up sufficient courage to peer cautiously about.

It was in the dead of night, not a sound could be heard beyond the faint moaning of the breeze; without, the moon shone brightly, shedding a glimmering radiance around, that invaded the house through the open door, and peopled it with weird apparitions, while a chilly draught swept into the bedroom.

Raleigh shivered, but it was more from cold than from the fright, page 153 for he found out the cause of the disturbance, and the ghostly element disappeared forthwith.

He perceived at a second glance that the vision of a dark figure, which had caught his gaze, was nothing more than his black mackintosh, hanging in the passage, and faintly outlined in the dim moonlight. The patter of feet he attributed to his dog, running out of the house when the front door flew open, while he realised that a gust of wind had blown the candle out. He also remembered that he had forgotten to fasten the front door. So the murder was out. His intelligence was satisfied, but it took him some time to recover his composure, for what with his previous disturbing dreams and this rude awaking, his nerves had been much shaken.

After a while he was able to collect his thoughts again, and to resume his melancholy musings. He felt surely that he could stand this irksome state of suspense, this unholy excitement, no longer. It was too much for flesh and blood; perdition would come of it. Then and there he decided to adopt the sage advice he proffered the same evening to his charming Mrs McDonald, and which had led to her precipitate departure—not to attempt resisting temptation, but to flee from it; he would run away.

Fortified and relieved in spirit by this prudent resolve, the weary young man laid his head once more on the pillow and sought for solace in slumber. But the wished-for tranquillity would not come; sleep only brought him renewed dreams, and the dreams renewed agitation.

This time, however, the visions were of a less pathetic or terrifying character; they partook more of the fantastic element.

He dreamt he was a sultan, supinely reclining on a gorgeous couch in his luxurious harem, and with a bevy of smiling beauties around him.

They were attired in Oriental fashion, and bedecked with sparkling gems, but through the gaudy disguises he recognised familiar faces; all his fair friends of the previous eve were there.

Celia Wylde, magnificently adorned, reposed with queenly grace on a pile of velvet cushions by his side, a dazzling tiara of diamonds crowned her shapely brow, strings of pearls and clasps of brilliant jewels encircled her white neck and graceful arms, while in other respects she was even more artistically dressed than was her wont on state occasions.

Janet McDonald, tastefully draped as a rich Albanian, sat opposite, looking provokingly captivating, with her pretty head held archly on one side, a bright flush on her cheek, and a bonny smile on her pouting lips.

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Maggie, as a Turkish maiden, in gauzy bodice and short skirts, her long black hair flowing behind her from under an embroidered cap of jingling gold sequins, was performing some rapid gyrations to the music of stringed instruments, fife, and tabor, and throwing herself into graceful attitudes, which were much enhanced by the transparent nature of her delicate attire.

In a corner of the sumptuous apartment, partly veiled and closely wrapped within the ample folds of white drapery, stood the sedate Alice Seymour, a silent spectator of the entrancing scene. He knew her by her lustrous eyes, as she turned her pensive and reproachful gaze upon him.

The music struck a stirring chord. The queenly Celia rose from her recumbent pose and threw her voluptuous arms round his neck; the giddy dancer with a wild pirouette prostrated herself adoringly at his feet; the fair Albanian, with coy reserve, approached to hide her blushes in his bosom, and even the veiled figure, with bashful and reluctant steps, drew near at his tender call; when—suddenly—a frightful discord rent the air! The lovely group fell back and dispersed with shrieks of dismay. Then an angry clatter of sharp tongues drowned the former sounds of soft revelry. The whole party was set violently by the ears. The regally bedecked Mrs Wylde behaved like a very virago, fierce rancour flashed from her half-closed eyes, and a mocking laugh resounded from her scornful lips. The incensed Mrs McDonald, with flushed face and arms akimbo, confronted the agitated Maggie, whose feet no longer danced with alluring cadence, but stamped with passion, while the retiring Alice shrunk away with disgust and hid her face for shame.

Raleigh, despite his absolute rule as sultan, realised mutiny in the camp; he foresaw a terrible convulsion in the bosom of his former happy family; in vain he attempted to assert his authority, he stormed, he implored, he threatened, but all in vain. The furious altercation continued with unabated violence for a time, then suddenly ceased; there was an ominous lull, the lights grew dim, the voices hushed, the personages of the scene gradually faded from sight; all but the half-veiled figure, which remained standing in a grief-stricken attitude, in stony immobility. Alone the dark lustrous eyes showed life, and continued to look upon him in sadness and reproach. He quailed under that searching glance, and tried to escape from it, but could not. Then he perceived that the beautiful eyes were veiled in tears, and his own heart melted at the sight, then they, too, vanished in mist, and everything lapsed into silence and darkness once more.

* * * * *

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Raleigh was up and about by the first streak of dawn, intent on the resolution which he had formed in the night, of at once abandoning the field of his amorous conflicts, and beating a hasty retreat—whither he knew not nor cared.

His only present concern was to get away.

His preparations were soon made. He knew that there would be no meeting of the Shire Council for a fortnight, and that in the meantime his services would not be required. He also knew that the police magistrate would readily grant him leave of absence. His other duties he delegated to his friend Tippings, on whose good nature he could always rely, and he wrote him to that effect.

He also wrote a few hurried lines to Alice Seymour and to Mrs McDonald, informing them of his departure, but giving no reason for it. He partook of a hasty breakfast, and, without waiting to put the place tidy, he rolled up a change of clothes in his opossum rug, which he strapped over the pommel of his saddle, locked up the house, and left the key in charge of a neighbour—with a message for the little milk-maid—then went to the stable, groomed his steed, vaulted into the saddle, and, with an exclamation of relief, started off at a canter on the track for Mount Pleasance.

The sun had only just risen as our traveller left the main road and emerged on the broad yellow downs that flanked the little settlement.

A flood of golden light illumined the wide expanse. On the one side, not far distant, rolled the dark blue ocean, the frothy crests of its heaving billows lining its sombre mantle with an embroidery of brilliants that flashed afar in streaks of sparkling white, while the deep roar of the breakers came dimly wafted on the fresh salt breeze.

The frowning cliffs stood out in bold relief, and from their rocky feet, where thundered the white surf, huge jets of spray, like water rockets, shot upwards to the summits of the bluffs, there spreading out in showers of glittering foam.

This beautiful display of water works, this outburst of shining smoke to Nature's loud cannonading, could be traced in flashes of light all along the visible coast-line for many miles.

Inland was a wild open country of undulating downs, treeless and bare, but clad in the brightest yellow; the scattered homesteads and patches of cultivation appearing like variegated spots on the uniform texture of the golden native garb. Here and there a break in the tableland could be seen, indicating the tortuous course of some shingle-covered river bed, bordered with dark clumps of flax bushes, with page 156 shining leaves and high-bending flower stalks, that rustled and nodded to the breeze.

In the background rose Mount Pleasance, the most prominent object in the neighbourhood, arched like a whale's back, and ribbed with winding spurs and wooded gullies; the whole toned down under an exquisite transparent veil of pearly grey, radiant with light and beauty.

All was bright and gay in the opening scene of this sunny morning, and as Raleigh basked in its golden effulgence, and inhaled the invigorating sea-breeze, he felt his nerves braced, his spirits enlivened, and a buoyant sense of freedom and exuberance thrill through his whole being. He felt prompted to rise in his stirrups, wave his hat, and shout for joy, as a greeting to the joyous morn, while his spirited steed, catching the lively contagion, broke into a gallop, and dashed gallantly along the prairie track, leaving a smoking trail of dust behind.

Raleigh had no precise object in view beyond change of scene, and to escape from compromising associations. He was so undecided whither to go, and so indifferent on the subject, that he felt half inclined to leave it to his horse, and be directed entirely under the auspices of Fate by that sagacious animal.

And in those genial times of the early settlement of the colony, it mattered little, so far, at any rate, as concerned his hospitable reception, where he might wander; he would have been sure of a warm welcome in every quarter. A cordial hospitality was the order of the day; it ruled the hearts of men, and found expression in their many actions; it was extended almost indiscriminately to all comers. In that little corner of a new world a kindly sense of brotherhood was uppermost in the hearts of its sturdy pioneers; they met everywhere as fellow colonists. A stranger in those days needed no letter of introduction to be well entertained at almost any sheep station throughout the land, and the fact alone of his being a traveller entitled him to a hearty reception. A new arrival from the dear Old Country was always welcomed with open arms, if only for the sake of the dear Old Country; while an older resident was almost sure to be kindly recognised, if only through his acquaintances.

As Raleigh cantered unconcernedly onward, pleased with the open prospect, and exalted with a new-born sense of reckless freedom, he ran into the midst of a party of surveyors, who had just started their field work. By these he was immediately ‘bailed up’, and made to dismount against his will to partake of some refreshment.

‘The sun is not yet over the yardarm,’ exclaimed Frank Markham, page 157 the ‘boss’, a jaunty young man of commanding air, ‘and I have forbidden morning drinks, but we will break the rule for this once in your honour. Come, let's have a doctor. Joel fetch that rum and milk.’

Raleigh expostulated in vain. He was not thirsty, he was not in need of stimulants, especially at so early an hour, ‘doctors’ did not agree with him, and, moreover, he was pressed for time, and had to urge on his journey; he begged to be let off.

These excuses were received with evident disbelief, not to say derision.

The one thing a man would not get away from in the good old times was a drink. There was no escape unless, indeed, through a registered vow to teetotalism, which was always respected if known to be genuine. But there was no dodging allowed, no playing fast and loose with the nobbler. It was an institution, the social law of the land, the recognised pledge of good-fellowship. To refuse to drink with a man was not only an ungracious act, it was a personal offence, and often resented as such. Moreover, a man was never supposed, except as a last resource, to drink by himself; to pay for one drink only was deemed the height of meanness; he had always to ‘shout’, if only for the barman.

Our rollicking grandfathers at the beginning of this century drank hard. It was the fashion with them; the right thing to do. The good old souls were often designated among their intimates according to the number of bottles they could imbibe at a sitting, and the man was not thought much of who, as a rule, could put himself to bed. But there is a time for everything, and in the old style there was a time for getting drunk. These ample potations were reserved for after dinner.

Now in the young colony greater freedom prevailed; there was no restriction to time or place. The hardy pioneer took his liquor not so much when he wanted it as whenever he could get it. He took it, perhaps, in smaller doses, but more frequently. It was no longer a draught, as of old; only a ‘nip’, but so often repeated as fully to make up for the difference. King Nobbler ruled supreme, and it went hard with the man who attempted to dispute that sovereignty.

Raleigh strove to be singular in many things, but he found it undesirable to extend his originality into the region of Drink—he rather conformed to the custom of the country, and found himself all the happier for it.

So, under mild protestation, he partook of the proffered ‘doctor’, and after a short while found himself so cheered and invigorated page 158 that he reluctantly consented to repeat the dose. After that his fate was sealed, nothing was left for him but to light his pipe, and to give himself up body and soul to his friends the surveyors.

They did not treat him harshly. He was shown a widespreading flax bush close by, where he could recline at leisure and watch proceedings, while indulging in his own peaceful cogitations. He adopted the suggestion, and was soon extended full length under the rustling leaves, placidly engaged in a smoke, and profoundly indifferent to all else beside in the wide world.

Frank Markham, the leader of the party, stood erect by the theodolite, turning it in all directions, and occasionally taking a squint through the telescope of the instrument, while directing his flag-bearers to their respective positions on the lines to be traversed. His assistant stood beside him with an open field-book, in which was entered the various observations. A young cadet, as aide-de-camp, was in attendance to convey orders, and next to him a lad with a bugle. For Markham was of an original turn, and had introduced a novel practice of his own, quite unknown to the departmental regulations. A flavour of military discipline had been imported into the survey proceedings, and the men had been trained to answer to given signals. Instead of the usual frantic shouts and gesticulating, the order to advance, retreat, step to the right or to the left, plant the flag-pole or remove it, was sounded with the bugle. There was much trumpeting to and fro, which gave enhanced importance to the evolutions, and seemed to afford an endless amount of gratification to all concerned. The usually tame affair looked very much like a lot of schoolboys playing at soldiers.

Meanwhile Raleigh reclined blissfully under the lea of the sheltering flax-bush; he had pulled his felt hat over his eyes to shade them from the noontide glare, and between the solemn puffs from his pipe was apparently lost in the profoundest meditations.

Yet what he was thinking about would have puzzled him to say. Supreme happiness is always thus indefinite, and our loveliest cogitations are about nothing at all.

The sky was cloudless and serene, of an exquisitely transparent blue, the atmosphere was luminous, and yet so clear that the distant hills shone forth in all their local colouring with vivid distinctness; the warm sunshine streamed over the wide expanse of yellow plains, burnishing them with gold, while the freshening breeze sang gaily overhead.

How merrily it piped to him that joyous wind, so buoyant and debonair, with ever-varying accentuation of mood and cadence! How page 159 it bustled and rattled about among the long shining flax leaves, and clapt and shouted to him, or else crept furtively through the bending tussocks to whisper soft nothings in his ear! How it would plaintively moan, and then whistle a lively melody, or rock his pillow while singing softly to itself! How it would fan his hot cheek, and tickle his neck, or creep into his bosom! How it would soar aloft in wild ecstasy, and shake itself with delight, and then come down to him again, and fold him in a rapturous embrace, and steal his senses away!

A few paces off stood the party of surveyors strutting listlessly about, but he followed their movements with inattentive glance, and soon their forms became indistinct, and flitted like shadows before his half-closed eyes. A soothing torpor came over him. Occasionally the loud bugle call would startle him from his pleasing apathy; he would lift his head and stare languidly round, but only to relapse again, when after a while even the clarion sound faded away to a distant echo, and he glided off into a grateful slumber to the music of the wind still reverberating in his ears.

He was awakened a couple of hours later by a slight titillation about his nostrils, and upon slowly opening his eyes he discovered the curly-headed cadet bending over him, and adopting the delicate method of recalling him to his senses by tickling him with a straw. There was a hearty laugh, and then he was told that the dinner-bell had rung, and that it was time to be up and away.

‘Heavens! how you sleep! You must have an easy conscience to snore like that,’ exclaimed Markham, as he helped him to rise. ‘We are off to the camp for lunch, old man, and then we return to the office, taking you with us. We can find you a shakedown, and then there's some rare old whisky on the premises. I say no more.’

Raleigh rubbed his eyes and apologised, thanked his friend for the proffered hospitality, but pleaded an urgent engagement to continue his journey.

‘That be blowed for a yarn!’ cried the other. ‘Where the deuce are you bound for?’

The question was a poser. Raleigh hesitated for a moment, and the man who hesitates under such circumstances is lost.

‘What possible business can you have? The idea is absurd,’ remarked Norman, the assistant, with a grin. ‘Why you were never known to do a stroke of work in your life.’

‘Shouldn't mind wagering,’ gravely observed the surveyor, ‘that there's a lady in the case.’

‘No young ladies about here, worse luck,’ put in the curly-headed page 160 cadet ‘and if it's Cattle Downs you are making for, I may as well inform you, to your sorrow, that Miss Plumet left for town yesterday.’

‘And who is Miss Plumet?’ inquired Raleigh, in a vacant sort of way.

‘The new governess at the station, and the only eligible spinster within a radius of twenty miles. It is currently reported that she has received fourteen offers of marriage during the past ten days.’

‘Shut up!’ exclaimed the surveyor, reprovingly, ‘and don't make free with a lady's name. Miss Plumet is a most engaging young person, and I fancy is in no particular hurry to get married.’

The bystanders exchanged glances, and winked slily at one another. It just struck them that possibly their ‘boss’ might have been one of the fourteen suitors.

‘You forget,’ said a mild-looking young man, who answered to the name of Edwards, ‘that Mr Raleigh comes from Sunnydowns, where he is surrounded with female attractions.’

‘Then it's a burning shame!’ exclaimed the assistant, ‘the unequal way in which the good things of this world are distributed. Here we rarely get within sight of a petticoat.’

‘Bother the petticoat!’ interjected the uncouth Teddy Rose, a lad of sedentary habits, who pretended utter disdain of the sex, ‘bother the petticoat! Give me nature unadorned.’

Mister Rose!’ severely observed the surveyor, with a mock frown, ‘I'm surprised at your want of decency. I cannot permit such expressions in my presence.’

‘I assure you, sir!’ stammered the youthful misogamist, taken aback, and blushing violently to the roots of his ears, amidst general tittering, ‘I didn't mean what you think—quite the reverse. What I meant was that—er—there is no particular charm about a petticoat, no attraction to me at least, and that—er—’

‘Shame on such sentiments!’ cried the more effeminate Edwards. ‘I rather hold with Byron:

I, for one, venerate a petticoat—
A garment of mystical sublimity,
No matter whether russet, silk, or dimity.
Much I respect, and much I have adored
In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil,
Which holds a treasure like a miser's hoard,
And more attracts by all it doth conceal.

‘What is the world without lovely woman?’ added the curly-headed page 161 cadet, rapturously. ‘She is the attraction everywhere. How I miss the female element in this bleak wilderness. Now, the very sight of a petticoat puts my heart in a flutter; and to think that in my English home I was surrounded with them, and never paid them due attention. Oh! would that lost opportunities would return! Why, if only one of those dear, rosy-cheeked, plump, little housemaids in my father's house, in cap and white apron, were to appear on this scene, I could fall at her feet to worship her.’

‘Without stooping quite as low as that,’ put in the assistant, gruffly, ‘I yet admire the sex. I reverence its distinctive garb, and I would touch my hat to a petticoat if only hanging on a broomstick.’

‘The worst of you fellows,’ growled forth Raleigh, with a big yawn, ‘is that you are always talking about women. I can understand society men, a lot of lazy, pleasure-seeking, effeminate fellows, with nothing else to do but dance attendance on the fair, constantly chattering on the subject; but, hang me! for sturdy young bushmen like yourselves, far removed from feminine influences, to be everlastingly—’

A loud peal from the bugle here interrupted the discussion. ‘To horse!’ shouted the surveyor, and the next moment the whole party was off, in the teeth of a strong breeze; the riders gaily caracoling about, their long white puggarees flapping madly behind them, the chain-men, with the survey instruments, following in a light cart, stones and gravel shooting forth from under the horses' hoofs, and a cloud of dust sweeping in the rear.

Arrived at the camp, Raleigh was ushered into a good-sized bell-tent, containing a couple of stretchers and some rough articles of camp furniture. He was invited to throw down his hat and coat, and to have a wash in a water-hole close by. These ablutions finished, the surveyor, his guests, and field-assistants squatted down on the grassy floor of the tent, and a vigorous yell was given to black Dunno, the cook, to serve the luncheon. This was done by first distributing tin plates and pannikins, with iron knives and forks, and hunches of bread, all round, and bringing in a huge frying-pan, with mutton chops spitting and crackling in the boiling fat, and setting it in the centre of the circle. The convives helped themselves by harpooning the choice morsels, while holding their plates on their knees. It was the regular bush fare, rather monotonous in the menu, but with hearty appetites done ample justice to, and the whole washed down with copious potations of black tea.

The meal over, the empty frying-pan and tin service removed, the guests took to stretching themselves about on the ground, or page 162 coiling themselves up in cosy corners, and lighting their pipes for a ‘spell O!’

The utmost conviviality and good-humour prevailed, under the easy-going presidency of the surveyor, who was provided with a camp stool, and whose superior position enlitled him, when addressed, to the prefix of Mister, while all the other young men called one another by their Christian names.

The conversation never flagged, notwithstanding the apparent dearth of topics of mutual interest in a locality so cut off from the busy outside world, and so devoid of social news; the favourite subject being, as before, and notwithstanding Raleigh's indignant protest, the ever-reigning ‘lovely woman’.

Meanwhile the wind had veered round to the nor'-west and freshened into a stiff gale; it howled over the treeless plains and battled furiously with the canvas obstructions; there was such straining and flapping of the tent, that at times it seemed bent double and threatening an immediate collapse. But it held its ground, and notwithstanding the noise and agitation without, the recumbent occupants within, smoking fresh pipes, and imbibing hot tea, held to their lively discourse, interspersed with thrilling ‘yarns’, and marvellous accounts of personal gallantry. Such crowing of young cocks could hardly have been surpassed.

Had Raleigh only joined in, and related some of his amorous ‘escapes’, he would have added considerably to the afternoon's entertainment, but for reasons of his own he preserved a discreet silence, and even made repeated attempts to change the compromising subject.

At last, Markham, the chief, decided upon an adjournment, and sent off his satellites to saddle up, and prepare for departure.

‘It is no d——d use,’ he declared, ‘trying to work in this buster. It is enough to blow the hair off your head. What's more, when the wind sets in from that quarter it generally lasts three days. Let's make for the office where we can get better shelter and a drop of something stronger than tea. We will have a jolly night.’

‘There fellows of yours seem to enjoy a good blow.’ remarked Raleigh.

‘They just do,’ replied the surveyor, good-humouredly, ‘although, I sometimes think, one may have too much of a good thing. The blow, here, is our main resource. A niggardly Government only allows me a fortnight's leave of absence in the year, but whenever I want an extra day or two for a holiday I have only to enter in my official page 163 diary “blowing hard—work suspended”. And I can do so without lying.’

‘Ah!’ replied Raleigh, ‘that is more than your young men can do.’

‘What do you mean?’ inquired the surveyor.

‘I was alluding,’ said the other, with a smile, ‘only to their conversation.’